Page 1 of Paranormal Love From an Immortal Thug
WEDNESDAY
Iw o k eu pfrom my nap to my phone vibrating on the nightstand and the wind outside acting disrespectful. Halloween was tomorrow, my favorite time of the year, but this evening, I wasn’t feeling none of that spooky spirit shit. I felt... drained.
My apartment was quiet, still holding onto the smell of that eucalyptus candle I'd burned earlier. I stretched and grabbed my phone, half-expecting a miracle email from my agency. Instead, I had a text from my coworker, Shawnee.
I blinked, then rolled my eyes. Shawnee swore every man with a 401(k) and a clean lineup was my soulmate. This was her third attempt this year to “fix my love life,” like I was some busted ass Ikea dresser she could sand down and repaint. I chuckled dryly, tossing my phone back on the bed. Was I sexually frustrated? Hell yeah. But I wasn’t pressed for a dinner date setup at all.
Dating in Grimwood was trash. The apps were tragic, DM dudes were worse, and the men I met in person? Inconsistent or weird as hell. Either they didn’t believe in commitment, didn’t believe in foreplay, or didn’t believe in soap. And every time I waxed, lotioned, and gave a damn, I ended up in my bathroom mirror, mad at myself for even trying. I was over it.
Truth be told, I wasn’t in the mood for much of anything. My modeling agency sent a mass “Happy Halloween” emailearlier, but no new gigs. Just another reminder that I was grinding for a career that gave crumbs in return.
I’d done some catalog shoots, a small boutique runway, and one campaign that paid in “exposure” and maybe one usable photo. They kept saying I had potential, but some days that potential felt like a scam. Like I was walking uphill in six-inch heels with no end in sight.
I let out a long breath, rolled out of bed, and padded to the kitchen to pour a glass of cranberry juice. Leaning on the counter, I stared at nothing for a minute, letting the quiet settle.
This year had been heavy. Losing my mom, trying to build a name in an industry that didn’t give a fuck if you were tired, broke, or grieving, and clocking in part-time at an admin job just to stay afloat was all catching up to me. I wasn’t just tired. My soul was tired.
I texted Shawnee back with a smirk.
Then I hit the shower, debating if I should bother with the date. Still, might as well look good for whatever disappointment was waiting at The Mugg.
???
B yt h et i m eI stepped out of the brownstone, it was a little after eight-thirty. My third-floor apartment had the whole "restored" vibe, meaning gentrified as hell. Exposed brick, matte black fixtures, rent just high enough to make you question your life. Still, it was quiet and safe. Keys in hand, I headed down the hall, ready for the night.
Halloween decorations hung off every balcony on the block. It was all orange lights, fake spider webs, and motion-sensor skeletons that cackled when you walked by. Leaves were tumbling down the sidewalk like they were late to something.
The nighttime air had that eerie, charged energy… the kind you could almost feel in your bones. Like something was shifting beneath the surface. Grimwood was always like that around this time of year. People walking around in costumes like it was normal to hit the corner store dressed like slutty pumpkins and blood-covered cowboys.
I made my way toward the garage around the corner where I parked, trying to hype myself up. Blind date or not, I was already dressed and too fine to go back in the house now. I had on a cinnamon-colored knit two-piece that hugged in all the right places, paired with a caramel trench coat and thigh-high suede boots that made my thick legs look like a whole problem. My hair was curled into soft, layered waves, edges laid, and my gold hoops peeked out just enough to saydon’t play with her.
I unlocked my car and slid into the driver’s seat with a sigh.Alright mystery man... don’t be lame.
Twenty minutes later, I was pulling up to The Mugg, a trendy, fake-upscale spot downtown. Brick walls, moody lighting, plants everywhere, and a chalkboard outside:“Order AMargarita But Make It Spooky.” Time to see what the night had waiting.
I stepped inside and scanned the room, spotting him right away. Preston stood near the hostess stand, checking his phone. He was fine, I’ll give him that. Clean fade, thick beard, skin smooth like he drank water and minded his business. He wore a fitted brown sweater that clung just enough to his chest, and he smelled like expensive cologne.
“Hey,” I said, walking over with a polite smile.
He looked up, smiled back, and said, “Damn, you even finer in person.”
Cute.
“Thanks,” I said. “You’re not too bad yourself.”
The hostess led us to a table near the back, and Preston actually pulled my chair out for me before taking his seat across from me. I almost gave him credit.Almost. But I’d been on enough dates to know not to be fooled by manners. We ordered food and drinks, and the moment the waitress disappeared, it began.
“So, you work in IT with The Cauldron Group?” I asked, sipping mine.
He grinned like he’d been waiting for that question all day. “Yeah, and that’s cool and all, but, uh, I’m really into crypto.”
Lord. Another one.
For the next thirty minutes, he talked like he had stock in every failed project from two years ago. Gas fees. Rug pulls. The future of decentralized currency. I nodded politely, my fork hovering over my Greek salad as he launched into a story aboutthe time he almost invested in a coin called “Gorilla Baby Inu” and still considered it his biggest regret.
I smiled through it all, even let out a fake “Oh, wow, that’s wild” when appropriate, but internally I was crawling out of my own skin. I could feel my ovulation reversing like my eggs were packing their little bags and heading for the hills. Then came the kicker.
He switched gears and started dissecting his favoriteJoe & Jadapodcast episodes like they were scripture. “Nah, when Joe and Kiss were breaking down how loyalty’s a lost art in the game, like how dudes switch up for a bag… that shit hit me.”
